


Heist

by syrupwit



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit
Summary: Cereal thief.





	Heist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosencrantz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosencrantz/gifts).



Marla had put out dozens of traps, sealed off every last crack in the floor and walls, and enlisted the services of two exterminators, but the scratching at night continued unabated. Reginald -- that proud and doughty Persian, last of his line, with a face built for snoring and the hunting instincts of a far less pampered cat -- divided his time between hiding under Marla's bed, racing through the house after unseen prey, and sitting crouched in front of the stove. He would sit there for hours, staring intently, his smoke-colored tail twitching against the linoleum. No fewer than three times had the stove and its related environs been investigated. _But there was nothing there_ , the professionals said, _well, maybe a little dust_ ; and day by day grew Marla's grudging admiration for the cunning of mice.

Marla and Reginald had borne out several infestations together, perhaps as consequence of living in an old house. Appropriate strategies had been taken to combat each one, and corresponding precautionary measures had been instated afterward. Reginald took flea medication and was up on all his shots. Marla chose to stand on public transportation and washed her sheets religiously. The house was kept reasonably clean, the kitchen unreasonably clean. The pantry was reorganized whenever Marla bought groceries at the big-box store or got particularly bored.

Marla's greatest vice -- besides coffee, or maybe those mysteries where the detective does needlepoint or something and there's a free appropriately-themed pattern in the back of each book -- was sugary cereal, usually purchased in bulk from the big-box store. While some might choose to unwind from a long day at work with a bar of chocolate or glass of wine, Marla's favorite treat was a large bowl of cereal with just a splash of milk. With Reginald curled up on the couch beside her and a historical drama on TV, it made for the perfect evening.

The night of the heist was nearly one such evening. It was a Friday, the last Friday before Halloween. Marla had planned to welcome the weekend with a bowl of holiday-themed frosted oat and marshmallow cereal and _Wolf Hall_ , but found herself wrung out by the stresses of a day at the public library. The head of Youth Services was in a feud with the new head of Circulation. Marla could admit that the head of Circulation had some overly optimistic notions about the use of automated sorting systems in weeding, but the head of Youth Services was being stubborn and alarmist and had started encouraging the pages to take sides. And just before Trunk-or-Treating, too.

Marla worked in Technical Services -- usually a dream, best department in the place -- but people had been coming in all day to discuss the controversy, distracting her from the mountain of new acquisitions waiting to be cataloged and processed. This wouldn't have been too much of a problem if Marla hadn't also been covering for the coworker who did mending, and if a recent rash of minor but apparently targeted vandalism hadn't resulted in most of a popular children's series waiting in the mending cart. To top it off, a shipment of bestsellers that needed to be on the shelves last week wasn't delivered until after 4:30 pm. Marla's usual volunteer left at 4:00.

When Marla finally arrived home, two hours late, she was too tired to do much besides feed Reginald and change into pajamas. She downed a glass of milk, took two aspirin, and tumbled into bed. _Maybe I'm just getting old_ , she thought mournfully. Then: _Nah, it's stress. Work, the upcoming holidays, this mouse issue... I have lots of reasons to be stressed_. Then: _But what if I'm just getting old?_ Then: a lot of strange drifting ideas and after that, quiet, because Marla was asleep. After a while, Reginald came in and fell asleep too. His slightly wheezy breaths mixed with hers, and his fluff tickled her arm where she had flung it over the bed.

Just before midnight, Marla woke. Something was afoot in the kitchen.

Scrabbling sounds. The scrape of claws on plastic. Faintly, a noise like a single large maraca being rolled onto its side.

Marla retrieved the flashlight from her bedside table. Reginald snorted and sprung into wakefulness. He padded after her, cautious and near silent, as she crept down the stairs. As has been noted, Reginald had some minor respiratory problems; however, he was fit for his age and breed, saw a veterinarian regularly, and was kept away from common allergens. Excepting mouse hunting or other circumstances as called for a burst of speed or the flash of his mighty paw, he tended to move and act slowly. Many times, Marla hadn't noticed him sneaking up on her until his paw was on her arm and his yellow eyes were staring into her face, begging for a bite of dinner.

Marla dismounted the last stair and tiptoed into the hallway. The kitchen was close. Reginald followed on her heels, still cautious. They turned the corner and stopped short.

Light from the porch illumined the scene. A plastic container of holiday-themed frosted oat and marshmallow cereal was balanced on the edge of the kitchen counter, close to falling. Marla preferred to use such containers rather than her cereal in the original cardboard, as she found that it discouraged both mess and staleness. She had apparently set the box out and forgotten it. While she and Reginald watched, the container slid off the counter and crashed to the floor.

"No!" cried Marla, but it was too late. Cereal spilled everywhere. A lone figure glistened on the counter, architect of the cereal box's ruin. 

The figure ran down and seized a festive marshmallow. It locked eyes with first Marla, then Reginald, and for a long moment everything was still.

Reginald charged.

In the flurry of fur and ectoplasm that followed, Marla became aware of three things. First, it now made sense that they hadn't been able to get rid of the latest infestation. Second, she and Reginald had been living in a haunted house. Finally, the ghost mouse apparently hadn't gotten the whole memo on its ghostliness, because Reginald had cornered it by the sliding glass door and it seemed scared.

As Reginald stretched out his paw towards the cowering ghost mouse. Marla made a decision. She scooped up a handful of floor cereal and approached them.

"Reginald! Stop it. Reginald. _Reginald._ Hey, you -- come here, numbskull, come on -- stop that! Reginald!" 

With a squirming, hissing Reginald tucked under one arm and angled as far from the mouse as possible, Marla stretched out her other hand to the mouse. It was frozen in place, translucent beady eyes staring up at her. It looked very much like a normal white mouse, but at 40% opacity and surrounded by an inexplicable aura of wrongness. She became aware that the hair on her arms had risen.

Marla let a piece of cereal fall before the mouse. Then another, and another. It continued to stare. She moved back one slow, agonizing step. She held her breath. Even Reginald fell silent.

The mouse darted forward and snatched up the cereal. It took a bite. Marla was too busy being transfixed by its tiny paws and twitching nose to ponder the physics of ghost digestion, but there would be plenty of time for that later. For now she watched in awe as the ghost mouse ate, seemed to grow more solid for a moment, and then -- very slowly -- faded away.

Dawn seemed to come soon after that. 

 

***

 

While the scratching at night had stopped for now, Marla was almost sure her phantom housemate hadn't left. She still found Reginald crouched in front of the stove sometimes, and a feeling of being watched had begun to assail her when on the stairs or near the attic. Perhaps the ghost mouse had just moved its base of operations upstairs, finding itself too vulnerable on the ground floor.

She was thinking about it when she went to help set up Trunk-or-Treating. The community outreach committee, which included the heads of several departments as well as three regular librarians, two assistant librarians, and a local teen, was hard at work decorating the parking lot. Later, they would transform the Storytime Room into the Scarytime Room, always a hit. It was Marla's second-favorite work event after the summer stargazing festival.

She found herself broaching the topic. Not ghosts, though any decent librarian knew a dozen ways of dealing with ghosts. No, what Marla sought was information on how to care for mice.

The interlibrary loan assistant didn't know anything about mice. Neither did the part-time business librarian. The local teen's cousin had had rats once, but the cousin lived in Australia. The second assistant reference librarian wondered why people kept such animals as pets; weren't they considered vermin?

" ** _Don't call them vermin!_** "

The head of Youth Services and the new head of Circulation whipped around to stare at each other, shocked to find the same words bursting from their separate pairs of lips.

Marla caught her breath. Could it be? Could the ghost mouse have indirectly healed the rift threatening to tear her beloved library apart? As the department heads wandered off, deep in discussion regarding the virtues of pet rodents, it certainly seemed so.

Her hopes were dashed mere minutes later, when the heads discovered some issue of animal care on which they did not concur and turned to bitter argument. Ah, well. That was life. 

They were still arguing at Marla's annual winter party, though they had moved on to other issues. Later in the evening at the same party, the head of Youth Services and the new head of Circulation were discovered kissing in the coat closet. At that point, most of the guests were hyped up on board games and had enjoyed a glass of mulled wine or two, so nobody really cared. The sociable and ever-handsome Reginald was the subject of more attention.

If any strange noises were heard, or lights flickered, or cookies went missing... It was well known that Marla lived in an old house. Sometimes odd things happened, up to and including the theft of grain-based sweets.


End file.
